Linger
by HadouKirby
Summary: August, 1995. I met him. A fork of Part 3, where Mikiya meets Fujino in the diner as planned, instead of sending Shiki to do it. A twisted love story.
1. Part 0

— _August, 1995. I met him._

 **Linger**

 **/0**

It had rained.

The water and wind had lashed against the windows and walls, a persistent roaring that drowned the sound from the shoddy hideaway, but it was of no more concern. Both things, the suffocating noise and the hideaway's 'activities', were of no more concern. Both had already ended, leaving behind nothing but puddles.

The streets laid motionless, filled with the dull sounds of the night. Traffic rumbled far off in the distance. Street lights flickered, humming all the while. Trickles of water drained through grates at the roadside. Splashes and footsteps resounded against the walls.

The footsteps came from the alleyway. A girl emerged, taking staggered steps, stumbling out in a daze. She slowly made her way up the alleyway and along the sidewalk, clinging to the wall for support. She took ten steps. Her legs trembled. Twenty steps. Her body swayed. She lasted thirty steps before collapsing, leaning against the wall, clutching her stomach.

 _It hurts._

Her breathing was shallow, her face contorted with pain. She removed her hand from her stomach, and raised it to her face. It was covered in blood.

She sighed, and let her hand drop, only to gasp and clutch her stomach again. She gritted her teeth. The stab wound went deep.

 _It hurts._

The girl sat there, slumped by the wall. Maybe, just maybe, if she just waited long enough, the pain would go away. The chills and nausea, the blood and the _disgusting_ feeling in the back of her throat; they'd all just disappear and take the pain with them. But they didn't. And she wanted to scream, to cry, to tear at the wound and _make it disappear_. But she couldn't, and knew she couldn't. She could only huddle and wait, hoping for it to disappear.

Time passed in a daze. How long had it been? Hours? Minutes? She crouched on the pavement wet with rainwater and blood, in a vain attempt to fight the pain. Yet it only grew stronger.

 _Am I... going to die?_

Police sirens wailed in the distance.

 _No. No, I can't die._

She heard splashes and footsteps through the haze of pain.

 _No, no please, not now, not yet—_

"Hey!"

The girl gasped. Slowly, she raised her head. Saw his face. Froze.

"Is everything alright?"

"No— I mean, yes." Stay calm. Look calm. Act calm. Take a deep breath. "I'm fine."

The newcomer raised an eyebrow, seemingly unconvinced. His eyes lingered on a spot near her stomach, and a spot near her left shoulder. Absently, she raised a hand to feel it, and noticed that some of her hair had been cut. She inwardly grimaced. The one with the knife… it must've been him who did it.

The two did not say anything, taking a moment to sum each other up. The boy opted to break the silence.

"You… you're from Reien Academy, right? It's a bit far from here. Did you miss your train? Or…" He put a hand behind his head, looking sheepish. "Do you want me to call a taxi?"

"I- no, it's fine. I don't have any money."

"Oh. So you live near here?"

"No."

A sudden reply, a bit too sudden. They both fell quiet. He tilted his head in curiosity, and moments passed in silence.

"Are you running away?"

"...Yes… I have to."

She averted her eyes and took a moment to recompose herself. She glanced back up. He looked concerned.

"...Do you need somewhere to stay, just for tonight?"

She felt her face grow hotter. "Really?"

He nodded. "I live alone, so it's not a problem. Well, I mean, I understand if you don't want to." He shrugged. "I guess it's kinda weird, isn't it? I mean, I _am_ just some random guy you just met." He hesitated for a moment, and, seemingly coming to a decision, he extended his hand. She took it.

"You're fine with walking, right?" He was looking at her stomach, and the hand that covered it, with a sheepish expression. "I could carry you on my back, if you want?"

"No… I should be fine. I can walk."

They walked in silence. The girl was still gripping at her stomach, and the boy shot her a worried look.

"Does it hurt?"

She shook her head in denial, and they fell silent once more. Seconds passed by.

"...Yes. It really, really does. You don't mind… if I cry, right?"

The boy nodded, and the girl smiled and closed her eyes. The night passed like a dream.

Like that summer day three years ago.

That same smile she once fell in love with.

 _It's been a long time._

 _But I've finally found you._

—*—

In the end, he had invited her over to stay the night, seeing as she had nowhere else to go. She accepted the offer.

When they had arrived at the apartment, she asked to borrow the shower for a bit, to clean herself off and dry her clothes. He complied, and lent her a shirt for something to change into. With a slight flush and sheepish expression, he excused himself to buy cigarettes.

She turned the knob of the shower waited for it to heat up, the splattering like the sound of the rain. She stripped her clothes and hung them on a rack, and stepped in, to clean herself of the filth, the rainwater, the blood.

Another wave of pain. She gasped, contorted, grabbing her stomach to try ease it, and unsteadily looked down.

Clean, white skin. No blood. No cut. No wound.

—*—

The girl woke up with not a start or sudden jolt, but in a lull. She raised her head slightly, eyes blurred, slowly getting a hold of her surroundings.

The room itself was rather unremarkable. Beige walls and carpeted floors. Faintly blue curtains, through which sunlight filtered into the room. The usual appliances lined the shelves and walls: a fridge, a water boiler, a microwave and stove. The room was decorated with simple wooden furniture, and a sofa, which the girl had been using as a makeshift bed. A plain room in the end, but more than anywhere she had ever been, it felt like a home.

She blinked hazily, and sat up a little straighter, peering meekly over the blanket. Her memory of the previous night was fuzzy, and she couldn't quite remember how she got here. Much less what she was doing in someone else's house, or why she was wearing someone else's shirt.

A flash of pain brought her back to her senses.

It had gone as quickly as it came. One moment, searing, burning. The other, the familiar nothingness. No heat, no pain, no touch. An existence like one without a body; a ghost.

It was strange, but she almost appreciated the pain.

She glanced at the clock on the wall, and saw that the time was almost half past seven. She changed out of the shirt, back into her old uniform, and hesitated, pondering what to do next. In the end, she decided on waiting for the boy to wake up. The least she could do was thank him. And so, the wait left her nothing to do but think.

 _Those men… they're gone, now. Like it all never happened._

 _Four dead. One remaining. He saw. He knows. Will he talk? Will they believe him…?_

 _...No. No nono no— They won't. They can't._

— _They will._

 _That's impossible. Who could ever believe him?_

— _They don't have to. They'll investigate. They'll find y—_

The sound of the opening door snapped her out of her thoughts, and she turned her head to see the boy emerging from his room. She stood up, giving a small bow. "Thank you, for letting me stay for the night. Even if I cannot repay you." With that, she made her way to the door.

"—Wait."

She started, and turned. He had a guilty face on, though for what reason, she didn't know.

"At least stay for breakfast?"

Another awkward silence ensued, and the girl quietly seated herself at the table. He got to work, rummaging through the fridge and pantry. Finally, he found something: noodles, oil, soy sauce and the like. And so, he made pan-fried noodles.

A minute or two passed in silence, no conversation or noise other than the sound of the stove. The boy, seemingly fed up with the silence, reached for the remote, turning on the television to a seemingly random channel. A news channel.

"— _Four dead bodies were found—_ "

—In an abandoned bar. Limbs, twisted and torn. Cause of death: blood loss. The boy stared at the screen in wonder. The girl closed her eyes, head turned downward. She realized she was shaking.

"— _have been identified, students from Kanjou High—_ "

—Who used that bar as a hangout. Delinquents. "Bad apples". Guilty of various petty crimes: theft and drug abuse. And, of course, what they did to her. She stared with transfixed eyes, and felt a familiar burning. The newscaster talked about the investigation, the police's response. They interviewed people, she didn't know who they were. They talked about the victims.

"— _always skipping school, haven't seen them around—_ "

"— _God knows what they were doing in there, though it's hard to feel sorry—_ "

"— _Personally—_

 _I think they deserved to die._ "

And the pain returned in full force, along with the sensation of _everything_. The warmth of her clothes, the steam from the bowl, sweat on her skin, and that familiar, familiar burning. Hazily, she notices the boy scowling and turning off the television. She clutched her stomach harder, even if it didn't help ease the pain.

 _No._ No. _No nono noNO—_

—It was obvious what the problem was. After all, it was her guilt. She really was—

 _Not a murderer, no, I'm not heartless, I'm not insane, I—_

—Killed, no, _brutalized_ four men, deaths not even befitting those of humans. Didn't even leave bodies, just piles of flesh and twisted bone—

 _In self-defense, it was all in self-defense. They would've killed me, I had to do it—_

—So was it justified?

Her hands trembled, her breathing ragged and heavy. She opened her eyes, and the room dissolved, melted, all red and green spirals, twisting and turning clockwise and counterclockwise. She blinked, and the room was back again, no different than before. Slowly, unsteadily, she stood up from her chair. "No one… deserves to die."

Yet she had killed those men anyway. Contradictory, hypocritical, but necessary. Justified. Kill or be killed. There was no choice.

 _I… don't want to do this._

One left. One escaped. He'd talk, others would find out. Her life, the one she had killed others to protect, would be over.

 _There is no choice._

 _Finish the job._

She ran to the door. The boy got up to follow, face wracked with confusion and concern. "Wait, _wait_! Is something wrong? Are you okay? Please, calm down, is—"

"No. It's alright." Her breathing was steady by now, controlled, but heavy. She was at the door by now, one foot out, ready to leave.

"I… can't go back. Thank you for everything you've done for me, but—"

He'd find out. He'd get involved. Hurt. Even killed. Or he'd find out what she was, what those men had done to her, what she had done to them. She wasn't sure which of those prospects terrified her more. Her thoughts were jumbled, her mind disoriented, yet there was only one thing she was sure of.

" —I… never want to see you again."

She left, disappearing into the city, determined to finish the job. Her pain brought her sensation, feeling, and she could feel _everything_. The summer heat. The city winds. A stinging heat on her face.

She didn't know what it was. She wasn't used to feeling. It was just a stray thought, but she thought she might've cried.

* * *

AN: This was a dare/exchange fic started on BL, between me and Dullahan. I'm mostly uploading this here because why not. Chapters 0-2 are beta'd by Leo, Dullahan, and Frosty. Afterwards, everything is beta'd by Frosty, so pretend they all have author's notes at the end thanking him for his work and so on.


	2. Part 1

**/1**

"Your pay's been suspended."

"...What?"

Picture an office. An office for one— and maybe a few guests, if the coffee table and couches were anything to go by. Various trinkets and apparent junk adorned the walls and shelves. A collection of clocks of varied shapes and sizes and times hung by the window. A jumble of old televisions and wires laid stacked by the stairs, their displays flickering to seemingly random locations and scenes: basements, offices, birds-eye views of the city. It was a strange room that perfectly reflected its strange owner. A magus: Aozaki Touko.

"Oh, no, don't worry, Mikiya. It's not like I'm doing it because you did something; it's just that I can't pay you this month. We're out of money, you see?"

" _...What?_ Wait no, _how_? You just had over a million a day ago. How did… you…" Touko motioned toward her desk, and Mikiya's eyes followed.

By the windows sat a desk littered with stacks of papers, files, and other sorts of junk. Typewriters and worn tomes set to one side. On the other, collection of miscellaneous knick-knacks: bottles of who-knows-what, twisted sculptures and scales, and an ashtray, full as usual. Pens, quills, and ink pots of various colors were scattered here and there across the table. And sitting there like a centerpiece, a mockery to his misfortune, was the offender.

She noticed his dumbfounded stare and grinned, and held it up for him to see. It was a wooden board engraved in English, adorned with various carvings of celestial bodies, angels and demons, visages of the dead, and so on. Mikiya stared at it with a stunned expression, and raised his head, looking at Touko for an explanation.

"It's a Ouija board. Victorian age."

"But what does it do?"

"Talk to spirits, presumably."

"And why did you want it?"

"Obviously, to talk to spirits."

"But does it actually work?"

"Who knows? If it doesn't, I could always make it do so. Give it some mana, some time, y'know?" Touko adjusted herself on her chair, taking off and inspecting her glasses as if to clean them. "Well, sure, it probably won't work much on souls that have already returned to where they came; those are untouchable. But there are some that haven't returned. Wraiths and apparitions and the like, and there are magi out there who use them. From what I've heard, they make great fighters." She took out a small piece of cloth, rubbing a smudge on the lens. Nodding as if deeming it satisfactory, she put the glasses back on and turned to face Mikiya.

She smiled. He frowned.

"Oh, come now. Are you angry? Come on, it was on sale!"

He scowled. Angry was a light way to put it, even if he didn't show it much. On the surface, he merely frowned a little, with a disapproving glare and twitch of eyebrow, yet by his standards, that equated to 'positively seething'. It was already bad enough that he had only a few thousand yen left, but these odd jobs at the Garan no Dou were his _only_ source of income.

"Hey, if it makes you feel any better, I'm all out of money too."

Mikiya sighed, took a moment to calm down, to regain his composure. "So does this mean I'm not getting paid this month?"

"Looks like it."

A pregnant pause. He sighed again for umpteenth time, getting up from the sofa and making his way to the door. "Well, Miss Aozaki, I'll be leaving early to find some way to get by this month. Alright with you?"

She laughed. "Oh, sure. By the way, can I ask a favor?"

He paused, already halfway to the door, and turned around with a newfound enthusiasm. Were things finally starting to take an upward turn? Did she perhaps have a ray of hope to bestow upon him?

"Can I borrow some money? I'm broke, you see."

"...I absolutely refuse."

With that note, he exited the office, closing the door a bit harder than he originally intended.

—*—

Mikiya exited the building, rubbing his temples and fighting back an oncoming headache. The positively sweltering mid-summer heat didn't do much to help.

This was bad. Touko made it sound like a joke, but he genuinely worried that he wouldn't make it through the month. He barely had any money left to buy groceries, and just his luck! All he had left to eat were noodles and oil, and even then, he was running out of stock. And that wasn't even counting the rent, the water, the gas. Given his last encounter with his family, he highly doubted that he would get any financial help from them.

He took out his phone, contemplating his situation. Money was on his mind, a gnawing problem that he knew he'd have to take care of as soon as possible. But what could he do? Find another job? Borrow from a friend? At this point, he felt more inclined towards the latter, though he'd probably end up doing the former.

He dialed the number of an old friend of his, thumb hovering over the "call" button, but hesitated, not sure if he should or shouldn't. After all, this borrowing-spree could end up taking a while, and he already had plans. Normally, he could just cancel those plans, or postpone them. Except…

 _Azaka._

His little sister. He had almost forgot. Today was the day he was supposed to meet her, for the first time in years. He sighed, and leaned against the wall, staring at his phone to sort out his thoughts.

On one hand, he really needed that money.

 _—It's been years._

This money is important.

 _—And so is this meeting._

Years, sure, but couldn't the meeting wait just a day?

 _—Couldn't the money just wait an hour?_

 _And besides, she had a favor to ask of you._

He tapped a finger on his temple, thumb still absently hovering over the "call" button. His mind was still fighting that oncoming headache, though he was fighting a losing battle on that front. He bit his lip. A moment passed. Two. Three.

He made his decision, and closed his phone, canceling the call. The money could wait. He had a sister to meet.

—*—

Beads of sweat rolled down Mikiya's face. Waves of heat rose from the sun-baked pavement. It took a long walk to get to the cafe; Mikiya cursed the summer heat for the second time that day. It wasn't like he had any cash to spend on a taxi, and even so he had to save a bit for the meeting. He wasn't too sure if he'd end up having to treat Azaka, but if he did, the meeting came at the worst possible time. Of course, it was either this, or breaking his promise. So he endured the heat, as best as he could.

He stopped by the corner, outside a building of weathered brick and plaster and half-timbered, vine-draped walls. A Western styled cafe, a little slice of Germany, fittingly out of place in a city like Mifune. Ahnenerbe. He opened the door to the cheerful chiming of bells and chatter in the background.

The air-conditioned room was like paradise, especially after spending the good part of an hour baking under the sun. Mikiya scanned the room, looking for his sister, and heard her voice among the chatter.

"Are you nervous? Don't worry, he's a harmless guy."

 _Wait. She's talking to someone…?_

He readjusted his glasses and squinted, trying to pinpoint her location, though the sudden change in brightness didn't really help with that. An orange-haired waitress greeted him and offered him a table, though he politely declined, still scanning the room. He could hear her voice getting closer now, from one of the corners.

"He's great at finding people. I'm sure he'll be able to find the guy you're looking for!"

He found Azaka sitting at one of the tables near the back, and was just about to call out to her when he saw the girl sitting across from her. He froze, and stared. The girl noticed, and stared back with widened eyes.

Long, black hair. Dark red eyes. A face like that of a doll.


	3. Part 2

**/2**

 _It's… him?_

Fujino stared. Azaka noticed her shock, and with a slightly confused look, followed Fujino's gaze to look at the newcomer. Azaka's expression instantly brightened.

"Mikiya!"

Abruptly, Azaka got up from her chair, positively beaming, with a strange smile that made Fujino slightly uncomfortable. The newcomer seemed somewhat stunned at this sudden outburst as far as she could tell, though he glanced back in her direction with a quizzical look. The three stayed like that, for what seemed like minutes, hours, but were really a mere tense few seconds. Other diners started to stare. Upon noticing their gazes, Azaka slowly sat back down with a sheepish laugh. "Ah, um… Sorry."

For a few more seconds, she did nothing, contenting herself with eying the two, as if trying to discern the reason behind their strange behavior, or waiting for one of them to speak up. She fidgeted in her chair a bit, the awkwardness being too much for her to handle, and opted to break the silence.

"So… um… ah! Why don't you take a seat? Have some tea?" She pulled out the chair right next to her and motioned to the teapot and cups. The newcomer snapped out of his daze and accepted her offer, sitting in the chair and pouring himself a cup.

"Well," Azaka began. "This is my friend from school, Fujino. Fujino, this is my brother, that guy I was talking about, Mikiya."

Mikiya raised an eyebrow, and gave a small smile. He extended a hand to shake. Absently, Fujino took it. She still couldn't believe it. It really _was_ him.

Azaka seemed shocked at the tension, narrowing her eyes, almost glaring with suspicion. It wasn't something that Fujino had seen her do often, and even then, she only saw that expression when Azaka talked about another girl, someone named "Shiki". But, it had passed as fast as it came, and so Azaka had apparently thought nothing of it. Azaka turned to her brother with a livelier smile. "So, Mikiya."

"How have you been?" 

—*—

They talked for a spell, about ordinary things, how they've been holding up and so on. Mikiya admitted that he had run into financial trouble, and Azaka admonished him in response. He asked about how her schoolwork was going in turn, and it was going "just fine, thank you very much". They talked about other topics, for the good part of an hour, catching up on each others' lives. Azaka complained about the rampant rumormongering in Reien. Mikiya considered getting a cat. She talked about a new teacher at school. He complained a bit about work and his employer. Azaka, much to Fujino's surprise and Mikiya's bemusement, tried to convince him to "break ties with that Shiki woman", with a fervor Fujino had rarely seen from her.

Fujino had talked too, though not as much as they did. She contented herself with merely listening in to their conversation, though occasionally she'd get pulled in one way or another. Maybe Azaka would tell a story about her, or Mikiya would ask her the usual conversation filler. How did she meet Azaka? How was Reien? And so on.

Not once did he mention their meeting that night. Fujino did the same.

Minutes passed, and cups of tea came and went. Mikiya parted with one of his last few five-hundred yen bills with an almost comically pained look on his face. By her third cup, Azaka seemed to remember half the reason she called him here.

"Fujino," Azaka began, sitting up a little straighter. "Didn't you have something you wanted help with? Someone you were looking for?" She looked pointedly at her brother.

"Oh..."

It was true. Fujino had mentioned this problem of hers to Azaka a while back, of a boy she had met at a school event she wanted to meet. It was originally an off-handed comment, not really something she expected or wanted help with. But Azaka had insisted on following through with it, strangely enamoured about the very idea, of Fujino finding that boy from long ago. Hence, why she got dragged into this very meeting.

 _But it's pointless._

She had declined, at first, seeing as how it was too unrealistic, too outlandish to try. There were hundreds of students at that school event. How would you pick out a single boy from that crowd, and just going by a single meeting? But Azaka had insisted on it, insisted that her brother's skills would be enough to find him. Fujino had doubted it. But in the end, it never really mattered.

 _I've already found him._

"...Fujino?"

She started, stole a glance to see the two looking at her expectantly; Azaka seemed excited for some reason, and Mikiya looked interested, if just a bit concerned, though what that concern was for, she couldn't tell. She averted her gaze, mulling over what to say. But really, there was nothing to say. Nothing for _her_ to say, at least.

She found him— or really, _he_ found _her_ again in the rain. At the time, she thought that was the end of that. She found what she was looking for, and was prepared to never see him again. And so, she initially didn't care too much about the meeting, or getting help to find that boy.

It was funny, really; she almost felt like laughing. She found him without even meaning to, for the third time at that.

Seconds passed in silence. Azaka shifted uncomfortably, attempting to hide her anticipation, and Mikiya merely tilted his head, refilling his cup of tea.

She came to a decision. She was never a great liar, but she rarely had trouble with small lies like this before. So why would now be any different? "It's nothing that important, really." She gave a small, practiced smile. "It can wait."

"...Are you sure?"

"Don't worry. I'm fine."

Yet another moment of silence, a moment which she used to muster up the courage to meet their eyes again. Azaka looked disappointed. Mikiya looked unconvinced.

Azaka sighed. "Well, if you really don't want to, I won't prod any further, then." She pouted, sipping on her tea all the while. "...But, well, we should get going. Don't think the owner would really like for us to stay for so long, especially when all we've ordered was tea."

She got up and stretched, casting a questioning glance in Fujino's direction, as if asking her to come along.

"Oh. Azaka, you can head back to the dorm by yourself. I will be staying at my parents' house tonight."

"Again?"

She nodded. Mikiya's expression was unreadable. Azaka glanced in Mikiya's direction, as if asking him the same question.

"Hm? Oh," Mikiya said hesitantly, scratching his head. "I'm gonna stay here for a little longer. I have to make an appointment or two, and I'd rather much make them indoors, while I have the chance." He nodded towards the door. "It's just way too hot out there."

She sighed. "You know, you could always just come back home. Mom and Dad— well, it's not like they've disowned you."

"I dropped out of college. Don't think they'll be thrilled to see me again, especially if it's just to borrow money." He gave a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. I'll be fine."

They waved each other goodbye, though Azaka didn't look too convinced. She reached the door, and took one last look back at the two, with an expression Fujino couldn't exactly make out. The door chimed as it closed shut, and she was gone. And the two of them were alone again.

A pregnant pause. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but seemed to stop himself short. He opened his mouth again a moment later, only to hesitate once more. He scratched his head, trying to find the words to say, the right way to say it. And just like that, he finally found his question.

He smiled. She frowned.

His smile was sheepish, almost embarassed. "Do you need a place to stay again, for the night?"


	4. Part 3

**/3**

She had agreed, just like last time.

It surprised him, honestly. Mikiya wasn't even sure if this was the wisest decision, but just leaving this issue alone bothered him. Maybe the summer heat was starting to get to his head? Maybe he was just being soft? Yet even through his softness or heat-addled mind or whatever it was that compelled him to help, he could tell, she was hiding something. Whatever it was, he didn't want to intrude at the moment, and so they departed the cafe in silence.

They walked, contenting themselves with listening to the sounds of the city. They made their way through busy streets, filled with the usual din of traffic and excited crowds. Shopping housewives and their children passed by, arms laden with bags full of groceries. Gossiping high schoolers hung out by the corners, fooling around, as kids had always done. Salarymen with phones in one hand and briefcases in the other waited by the stations, speaking into their phones as they waited. An ordinary scene, par for the course for Mifune City, or at least this half of it. The other side had fallen into disrepair, though you wouldn't know it from looking here.

Neither of them had actually agreed on where to go, but apparently, they had wordlessly agreed to head back to his apartment.

 _But then again, it's not like there's anywhere else we would be heading, right?_

They had reached an intersection, waiting idly for the light to turn green and for the traffic to stop. He took a casual glance at Fujino, who stood silently with downcast eyes. He supposed that he should've gotten used to the silence by now, but still, it annoyed him. So he opted to break it.

"You had someone you were looking for, right?"

The light turned green, and they continued on their way. She bit her lip, but stayed silent, apparently mulling over it. Mikiya tilted his head, confusion creeping up on him. What was there to mull over? Going by what Azaka said, Fujino had been looking for this person for a while, so why would she have to think now?

 _...Or maybe I'm just overthinking it. We've barely known each other for a day; she might still be suspicious._

"Minato Keita."

"—Huh?"

"A boy. His name is Minato Keita. You can find him, right?"

His eyes widened, for a fraction of a second. That name rang a bell. Minato Keita… who was he? He remembered the name from his high school days, though he couldn't remember anything about the person. He furrowed his brow, searching his brain for a connection, a reason for him to know the name. And then it hit him.

It wasn't much, really. Minato had been an underclassman of his. They weren't particularly close, but some of the younger students took an odd liking to Mikiya, for reasons he never really understood. If his memory served him correctly, Minato was one of them.

"Kokutou?"

"Oh!" He snapped out of his thoughts, and Fujino stared at him, with a somewhat confused look on her face. "Sorry, it's just— well, yeah, I can find him, probably. I did know him, after all."

"You… did?"

"Well, I didn't know him too well. He went to my high school." He gave a small laugh, though there wasn't much to laugh about. "Well, he was my underclassman. I only really remember seeing him around here and there. Do you know him?"

She frowned and fell silent once again, refusing to meet his eyes. Her expression was, for the most part, unreadable to him, but it was eerily familiar.

It was like Shiki's face, on that lonely December day in the rain. Full of apprehension, fear, and secrets better left to be buried and forgotten.

But would he go digging them up for a second time?

"I have to ask a favor of him. It's… urgent."

Mikiya was often described as "too trusting", or "gullible". Maybe this was true, maybe it was an exaggeration, but even so, he didn't quite believe her. It was painfully obvious that the girl was hiding something, and he had questions. Tons of them. Why, _really_ why was she looking for this boy? What favor? Was there even really a favor? Why did she lie to Azaka, about where she'd been and where she was going? What kind of secret could be so dire that you'd hide it from your best friend? He wanted to ask about that night in the rain, about the pain in her stomach, the blood on the pavement. And of course, there were those parting words to him.

 _—"I… never want to see you again."_

And yet they did see each other again, as if none of it ever happened, on the very same day no less. She never mentioned it again, and neither did Mikiya.

He just wanted to help. He could tell she was in pain, even when she tried to hide it.

Yet in the back of his mind, something gnawed, screamed at him. It told him to stay out of it. Let her be, don't get involved. It told him that if he left it alone, it would be for the best, for both of them.

 _Or do you want to do the same thing to her?_

 _—The same thing that you did to Shiki?_

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Fujino looking into a window. It had suddenly occurred to him that they had stopped walking. Dazedly, he raised his head, taking in his surroundings. They had stopped outside a grocery store. 

—*—

Mikiya took a few minutes to buy some groceries, and Fujino followed, strangely interested. He found it odd that the store wasn't as crowded as usual, though in hindsight, he shouldn't have been surprised. It wasn't even the hour for mark-downs yet.

He didn't buy much, but he had to buy _something_. He would have a guest over, and he just felt bad, especially if all they had to eat were plain fried noodles. The least he could do was at least try to make a proper meal.

Tofu. Bean sprouts. Those were nutritious, tasty, and most importantly, cheap. He got a bag of rice, a necessity for a proper meal. After a bit of consideration, he got a carton of eggs, for something a bit more substantial. He debated on buying a napa cabbage, brow furrowed, weighing his options in his mind, and eventually gave in. Unfortunately, the prices for beef and chicken hadn't been marked down yet, so those would have to wait. No meat for dinner, sure, but what they had was better than nothing. Probably.

Fujino hadn't remarked on any of this, and merely tagged along without a word. He wasn't sure if it was his imagination, but she almost looked happy. 

—*—

The rest of walk back was rather uneventful.

They made their way, side-by-side with grocery bags in hand, across the same sun-baked streets, among the same excited crowds. Neither of them had so much as spoken a word to the other since leaving the store, but Mikiya could feel a difference, if only a slight one. She didn't seem as guarded as before, for some reason. He supposed he might've seemed the same to her.

It took a bit, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes, but they finally arrived at his apartment. He opened the door, and was greeted with a draft of warm air. He frowned, and sighed. He didn't turn on the air conditioner, in the name of frugality. Admittedly, the temperature inside wasn't quite as bad as outside, but it wasn't quite as refreshing as stepping into Ahnenerbe.

Before he knew it, Fujino had already walked on over to the couch and plopped right down, face-down. He couldn't tell if she had fallen asleep, or was just tired from the heat.

He set the bags of groceries on the kitchen counter, sorting the miscellaneous vegetables into the fridge. It wasn't hard at all, given that the fridge was nearly empty. It only contained a few random condiments: miso, oyster sauce, sesame paste, and so on.

For a minute, he did nothing, contenting himself with staring into the barren fridge with disappointment. He turned, and saw Fujino on the couch, still lying face-down. He quietly made his way to the bedroom.

 _Looks like I have time now. Might as well sort things out._

He took out his phone, and dialed a number. Considering his extra guest, he wasn't quite sure if he had time to look for a part-time job. He didn't even know how he'd arrange for her to stay, or how long it'd take for her to sort things out, and return home. All things considered, his best bet at this point was to borrow money, and he could think of only one person at this point who'd be willing to lend him a hand without too much prodding. A friend of his from high school, Gakuto.

It took a few rings before he heard him pick up.

"Gakuto—"

"Oh hey, Mikiya?"

"Yeah, it is. Look, this is kind of important, but could we meet up, later?"

"Um, sure, I guess. You sound a bit… huh. Well, what d'you wanna meet up for?"

For a few tense moments, neither of them said anything. Mikiya bit his lip, contemplating whether or not to say. He gave in. "I… kind of have to borrow some money."

He heard silence, and then laughter, though it died down pretty quickly. "Hey, hey, are you really Mikiya?"

A snort, which felt weird, coming from him. "Yeah. I'm asking you because you're special, like that."

"I'm _flattered_. But seriously, why not just go to your parents?"

"I doubt they'd be glad to hear from me for that. I haven't talked to them since I dropped out."

He laughed. "Kokutou Mikiya borrowing money. Never thought I'd see the day."

"Oh, shut it. My pay's been suspended, because my boss thought it'd be a brilliant idea to blow a million yen on a random piece of junk. Kind of in a tight spot here, but seriously. Could you lend me some, or not?"

"You sound like you're in a bad mood." Mikiya opened his mouth to protest, but didn't get to start. "Yeah, yeah, I'll lend you some money when we meet up. At the Ahnenerbe, at seven?"

"Hmm. How about eight?"

"Sounds good."

"You're a lifesaver, Gakuto."

"Hey, hey, it's not like I said it'd be completely for free."

He sighed. "I should've expected this. So do you have a job, or something?"

He heard an uneasy silence over the receiver, and a sigh. "It's a job. I'll tell you the details when we meet up, but basically, I need you to look for someone."

"Who? Did they go missing, or something?"

"I guess. I don't know. From the sound of it, he got himself into some sort of trouble. A crime, a tight spot, I dunno."

"Oh…" He bit his lip, sighed, but there wasn't much else he could do. "Alright, I'll do it. So who is guy I'm looking for?"

"One of our underclassmen. I think you might've known him.

Minato Keita."


	5. Part 4

**/4**

Mikiya exited the room, slumping down into the chair. He told himself that he shouldn't feel tired, that his problems were over now. His money for the month was as good as secured, and all he'd have to do was find a boy, a simple task. And yet…

 _Minato Keita._

He could put two and two together. It didn't take a genius to do that much.

 _The murders. Start with the murders. Four high school age kids were killed, torn limb from limb and left to rot in some abandoned bar. It was the same night that I met her. I can remember it now. The cut. The bloodied pavement. Was she involved? Attacked? Whatever killed those kids wasn't human. Their limbs had been twisted, broken, beyond what any ordinary human could accomplish._

He rubbed his temples, nursing yet another oncoming headache. Minato went missing, apparently involved with the crime. Well, a crime, at least, but he could at least guess that the crime in question was this one. Fujino was wounded and "running away", though from what, he didn't know. All he knew for certain was that the two were involved with each other, in some way or another.

 _Was one of them a witness? A murderer?_

He sunk deeper into the chair and sighed. Given the nature of this murder, it looks like they got themselves wrapped up in an encounter with the supernatural. A monster, from the looks of it. Things like this weren't quite his area of expertise; that was more of Touko's specialty. All he could really do was snoop for information. Wearily, he noticed a bit of movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned to see Fujino awake, lying on her side.

"Tired?"

He heard only indistinct mumbling in response, and saw her bury her face into the pillow again.

He furrowed his brow in confusion, and almost smacked himself when he remembered. "Oh, right. Sorry if it's a bit hot in here. I forgot to turn the air conditioner back on."

She started a little, and raised herself into a sitting position. "Oh, no, it's…" Her words trailed off into silence.

 _'Fine'._

 _'It's fine'_ , she would have said. He heard those words a lot, coming from her, and it just annoyed him, though he couldn't quite put his finger on why. He shrugged, got up, and reached for the remote, turning it on anyway. "Don't worry about it; I'm not _that_ broke. I can afford a bit of air conditioning."

He stretched his arms a bit, and walked on over to the kitchen counter, taking out a knife, a worn cutting board, and some groceries and assorted jars. He filled two small pots with water, sprinkling one with salt, one with instant dashi, and set them on the stove. Fujino tilted her head, seemingly interested.

He worked in silence, focused on the tasks at hand to clear his mind, to get rid of the headache. Bean sprouts, rinsed and sorted. Rice, washed and set into the rice cooker. He found some dried seaweed lying around in his cabinet, and he threw in a few pieces into a bowl, covering it in water to soak. He heard the rapid bubbling, signaling that the pot of dashi had come to a boil, and he turned to mix in some of the miso paste, turning it down to a simmer. At that moment he noticed Fujino, watching over his shoulder.

"You can cook?" She sounded almost surprised.

"Not that well."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"I'm only kind of decent at it. Can't live off of instant noodles and convenience store bentos forever."

"...What are you making?"

"I'm not sure. Huh, let's see… Miso soup, and something else. Rice? Stir-fry? I dunno, maybe I'll probably just throw something together, though I'm not really sure what."

She stared at the cutting board with a somewhat conflicted look on her face, almost a pout. She opened her mouth to speak, but seemed to think better of it. She stared intently, biting her lower lip, at the various groceries and seasonings strewn across the countertop.

 _Was she really that hungry?_

 _We haven't eaten much for a while, so it's understandable. Maybe?_

But really, from what he could make out from her expression, it didn't seem like she was trying to urge him to cook faster. But on the other hand, her eyes were focused on the food.

It took him a few seconds, but he finally got it. He almost laughed, but opted instead to say it for her. "Do you want to help?"

At first, she looked almost taken aback. But, she gave a small smile, and moved over to the cutting board. 

—*—

They made a bit of progress.

At this point, the fact truly sunk in, that neither of them were stellar chefs. Fujino had little to no experience with cooking, and to be fair, Mikiya didn't fare much better. Their work was fumbling and clumsy. Slowly but surely, they made the dishes one by one.

A beeping from behind Mikiya indicated that the rice had finished cooking. He set a bowl of bean sprouts down on the counter, blanched, tossed with oil, soy sauce, and spring onions. The miso soup was still on the stove, simmering. They had already added the tofu, but neither of them really knew how long it was supposed to cook. So, for the time being, they let it simmer there, until they finished up with everything else, silently praying that it wouldn't ruin the soup.

He took a few eggs from the fridge and cracked them into a bowl, though he wasn't quite sure what he'd be using them for. Mikiya cast a cursory glance in Fujino's direction, as she stood by his side, slicing up some of the napa cabbage. She was focused on the task at hand, but even so, her knife work was awkward, almost uncanny. Her hands moved mechanically, her eyes practically glued to the knife.

He sighed, but remained silent. She had made it clear by this point that she didn't want to talk, and so he'd try not to prod. And, so for the time being, they acted as if nothing was unusual, nothing was wrong.

He snapped back to reality, and only then just noticed that Fujino had swiped away his bowl of eggs.

She heated up a pan with a bit of oil, and added the eggs, stirring them all the while. Mikiya, with nothing else to do, leaned against the counter and merely watched. Once the eggs were properly scrambled, she set them aside in a bowl, and added the cabbage to the pan. From the looks of it, she was making stir-fry, or something of the like.

 _Well, I guess that's_ something _we could use those eggs for._

She turned her head, and for a brief moment, they made eye contact. She quickly turned back around, face red as a beet.

It was weird, but she was working with an energy that he hadn't seen from her before. Though, since she had kept to herself until then, the fact that she was showing any initiative was remarkable. Even so, it was a change, if only a slight one.

If anything, she almost seemed enthusiastic.

He unplugged the rice cooker. Cradling it in one arm, and balancing the bowl of bean sprouts in the other, carefully made his way over to set the table. On hindsight, he realized it would've been easier just to make two trips rather than to carry everything at once, but it was a bit late for that.

He returned to the kitchen space as Fujino finished, plating the stir fry into a serving dish. He took the pot of soup, a few bowls, and some silverware, and brought them over to the living room.

The table was set. Dinner was served. 

—*—

Bean sprout salad. Miso soup, with tofu and seaweed. Stir fried eggs and cabbage, all served over rice. For all their inexperience, Mikiya thought they did a pretty decent job with the dishes, even if they left a bit to be desired. Oh, sure, soup was a bit thicker than he would've liked, and the salad was a tad undersalted, and he didn't use enough water for the rice. But, despite all its faults, it was still the best meal he'd had in a while.

And, like everything else they had done, they ate in silence, for a little while.

Minutes passed, with no sounds or conversation other than the clinking of silverware, the occasional request to pass a dish, and so on. The silent meal continued, until Fujino opened her mouth to speak, words half-formed, on the tip of her tongue. Yet, she stopped herself short.

Mikiya tilted his head. "Fujino…?"

She averted her gaze, still seemingly struggling with finding the words she wanted to say. She raised her head, with an almost goofy smile on her face. "I— um…"

He tensed. Focused. Was this it? A decisive clue on the crime?

"What actually do you do at your job?" She fixed her stare on him, though he could see a slight flush creeping along her face.

It took him a second or two to register what she had said, and he almost laughed. It was just small talk, that's all. She hesitated out of shyness, and not some grave matter.

"Well…" He paused. What exactly _did_ he do at Touko's, anyway? What the hell was he?

 _Apprentice?_

 _Errand boy?_

"I, well— I guess I'm a secretary. Maybe?"

"...Really?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. So, uh— ahem. What kind…?" She froze mid-sentence, and trailed off into embarrassed silence.

"Huh?"

She cleared her throat, her face beet-red. Trying again, perhaps? "I- I mean, what kind of company. What kinda stuff do you do?"

"...Oh. Well then," He hadn't given much thought to that, though he didn't quite know what exactly Touko did. Well, he knew well enough that she was a magus, but he didn't know what she was in the mundane world. A craftswoman? An architect? And did the Garan no Dou even count as anything 'official'?

"It's not, well, actually a company or anything. The office is actually just me and my boss."

"Wait… Huh? Just the two of you?"

He put a hand behind his head, averting his gaze, "Not _all_ the time. Sometimes it's three."

He looked back again, to see her looking perplexed. On hindsight, he realized he probably should've been a bit more vague with his wording. She narrowed her eyes. "What kind of office has only two people?"

"Well," he began, mulling over it in his head. "It's more like… she's an artist. And I'm her assistant."

"... _Really_?" She still sounded suspicious. "So it's just the two of you?"

"Um, I, uh—" By now, he was really starting to regret not keeping his mouth shut. "Yes?"

She stared, wearing an almost sour expression on her face. "Is she that 'Shiki' that Azaka was talking about?"

For a fleeting moment, he saw a vivid image: Ryougi Shiki, sitting surly-faced at an office desk, in the classic white-and-black attire, while a certain redhead lounged on the sofa in a kimono and a leather jacket. He burst out laughing, almost choking on his soup. "Haha ha, no," he managed to cough out, as he wiped his mouth. "No, she's not."

A brief, awkward pause later, and he decided he should've elaborated. "Shiki's actually the third one, who drops by whenever she feels like it. I'm not actually sure what she does there, or _if_ she does anything there. My boss, the one I've been talking about, is Aozaki. Aozaki Touko."

She gave it a moment of thought, and with a little gasp and look of surprise, seemed to come to a sudden realization. "Aozaki… is she that doll-maker? The one with that exhibit that other day?"

"Oh. Yeah. You went?"

A sad smile. "No, I didn't really have the time. A friend of mine went, but she brought back a few pictures." She bowed her head, playing around with the rice in her bowl. "But I actually have seen some of her works in person before, though that was a while back."

"I always thought it was kind of funny, though I never got why. It's just that I've never seen a doll look so real."

Mikiya nodded in agreement, and took a sip of soup. "She really does have a talent for making dolls."

"You know, you could've just said that she was a doll-maker."

"But she's not _just_ a doll-maker."

"Really? Does she make things other than dolls?"

"Yeah." He snorted. "She makes whatever she feels like making, and does whatever she feels like doing. Architecture. Paintings. Speech therapy. Sculptures. Hell, she's even done anime, though that one was just a short or two."

"Wait… seriously?"

"I still have the inbetween frames to prove it."

She laughed, if only a little bit. "She sounds interesting."

"I thought the same, until I finally started working for her. I mean, sure, she's still 'interesting', but now it's coming back to bite me." He paused, to take a bite of egg. "I did tell you about how she blew all our money to buy a Ouija board, right?"

She nodded. "Though I'm not really sure what that means, though."

"Hm. Well, basically, it's supposed to let you talk with spirits."

"Uh… huh."

"Yeah. Not sure what she'd want to do with that, though."

"Well, I guess to talk with the dead?"

"But why would she want to do that?"

She grew quiet. "...Maybe there's someone she wants to talk to?"

He stopped talking, and took a look out the window. The sky was dark. He craned his head to look at the clock. The time was a quarter till seven. He finished off his bowl of rice, and got up. Fujino had stopped eating. "Well, I have to get going now. I have someone I have to meet."

"For what?"

"Borrowing money for a bit. I'll be back by nine or so. But I guess I should do the dishes before I go. I mean," he added hastily, "If you're done eating, of course."

"Huh? Oh, I— no, that's fine. I can do the dishes while you're gone, if you have to hurry."

"—Are you sure?"

"Yes." She smiled. "It's fine."

He felt unsure about this. After all, it'd be pretty inconsiderate as a host, to have his guests do the chores for him. But, time was running short. It was quite a long walk to the cafe, after all, and he couldn't exactly spare much money for a taxi. And seeing as he was the one calling for the favor, it'd be even more inconsiderate to Gakuto to arrive late.

"Alright then. Thank you."

And with that note, he exited the apartment, and walked off into the night. 

—*—

She thought it kind of funny, though she didn't get why.

The dishes were done, the time a quarter until eight. Fujino laid on the couch, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. She gripped a small cell phone in her hand.

It was funny. She didn't know if that was the right word for it, because she couldn't bring herself to laugh. But to her, no other word described it quite as well. Perhaps she wasn't the one that was supposed to laugh.

A summer day three years ago.

A kind smile she once fell in love with.

Or maybe that was wrong. She wouldn't know what she really felt. All she knew was that day, she felt _something_ , for the first time in years. For as long as she could remember, she drifted through life like a ghost, a spirit, like something detached from the rest of existence. Simply put, nothing felt real, as if she could just one day fade away without a trace. Nothing tied her to the material world, until that fateful day.

She didn't know what she felt, so she called it "love".

Whatever it was, it was addicting. For one who couldn't feel anything for years, the first few drops of sensation were all she needed. Whatever it was she felt, she wanted more.

And a few days ago, down in that abandoned bar, she felt something else. So she called it "pain".

It hurt her, yes, yet it was just as addicting. In the end, she craved any and all sensation. It was proof that she was alive, real.

Yet today, she felt something else. Not like that feeling that summer day, nor like that feeling during those nights in the alley.

 _So what is it?_

She sighed, staring wearily at the cell phone in hand, thumb hovering over the call button. She had a task to be done, a job she had to finish. All she needed to do was press the button, like before.

 _And yet…_

A moment's hesitation. As if thinking better of it, she tossed the phone aside, and buried her face in the pillow.


	6. Part 5

**/5**

If there was one thing Mikiya appreciated about summer evenings, it was that they weren't quite as sweltering hot as the days.

He looked to the sky, in tinted shades of pink and gold, the sun just on the verge of setting. From his position in the streets, he could count the lights from the streets and skyscrapers as they blinked on, one-by-one. The streets themselves were just as busy as before, if not more so, given the evening rush of salarymen and schoolchildren returning from their nightly activities.

Retracing his path from earlier that day, he made his way over to the commercial district, where Ahnenerbe was. He opened the door, to the ringing of the door chimes, and saw Gakuto, sitting grim-faced at a table in the back. He made his way over, and sat down.

"Hey. Catch." Gakuto got out an envelope from his jacket pocket, and tossed it over to Mikiya. "I managed to scrounge up, I dunno, forty-thousand yen or so." He laughed, though it died down pretty quickly. "Consider this an advance payment. I can get some more later, but this should help with your initial search."

The orange-haired waitress from before walked on over, with a tray of tea and two plates of blueberry pie, an Ahnenerbe specialty. Mikiya felt a bit taken aback. "Seems oddly generous of you." He raised an eyebrow. "Is it really that important?"

Gakuto gave another grim laugh. "Yeah, I suppose you could say that," he said as he poured the tea— oolong and ginger, Mikiya noticed— into two cups, passing one over. He leaned forward, clearing his throat and lowering his voice.

"Time to come clean. You know those kids that got themselves killed last night?" He nibbled on a bit of pie, with a look on his face like he just tasted something bitter. "Well, Minato was with them when it happened."

Mikiya sighed. "I guessed as much. So he's the one I'm looking for?"

"Pretty much. Well, long story short, he was a part of their group, doing the same shit they did. I don't know the details, seeing as how he didn't really keep in touch with anyone else once he started hanging around with them, but as far as I know, they were involved with various crimes. Nothing huge, like murder or anything, oh no. Just random shit, kids being kids. Drugs, thefts, vandalism, and so on.

"So anyway, he's disappeared since last night, though you've probably guessed that by now. Thing is, it's not like he vanished into thin air or anything. Apparently, he's tried calling some of his friends for help. It's just that, well…" He trailed off into silence, uneasy look on his face. "Apparently— and just to note, this is second-hand; I haven't actually heard any of his calls— he's been acting, uh… weird."

"Like his friends all just got murdered?"

"Like his friends all just got _their limbs torn off and ravaged by a monster_. Or a demon. I dunno, apparently he was pretty fucked up, crying about monsters or demons or something, about how he was being watched and how 'it' could see him, and so on."

"Wait… demons?"

"From what I've heard. But then again, it's like a game of telephone at this point. His friend told another friend, who told another, and eventually it got passed around to me. Hell if I know what he actually said."

At this point, it seemed like all of Mikiya's fears were coming true. But there was still a glimmer of hope. "Are you _sure_ he wasn't on any drugs or anything?"

"Wait… huh? Oh, no, Minato himself didn't actually do any drugs. I mean, sure, he got mixed in with a bad crowd, but he's still not the type to do so. Actually," he said, taking another sip of tea, "I think that might be why he survived. If the others were high during the murder, it'd be harder for them to escape. He, on the other hand, probably wouldn't have as much trouble escaping."

"...Huh." Mikiya scratched his forehead. "Well, just in case, what kind of drugs were they using? Stimulants? Depressants? Or something else?"

"Not quite sure; I don't know the exact one they were taking. Though from the descriptions, probably an amphetamine, or something of that sort. So a stimulant."

"Tch." As far as Mikiya knew, amphetamine overdoses could potentially cause hallucinations and delusions, through stimulant psychosis. So it still wasn't quite clear, whether or not this _demon_ of his was real, or a fantasy. At this point, however, he'd settle to assume the worst. Even if there was no literal demon or monster, that still didn't explain the whole issue with the torn limbs. At this point, it was safe to assume that this was a supernatural incident. "Alright. I'll do it. Could you tell me more about his friends?"

Gakuto responded immediately, almost as if anticipating his response. "Here." He slid over another envelope, this time filled with various notes scribbled over scraps of paper: addresses, phone numbers, names of gangs and people.

He sifted through the pages, mouth narrowing into a thin line. He laughed, though it was an empty one. "What a violent world I'm getting into."

"Hey now, I thought this sorta thing was your line of specialty, _detective_?"

"Since when was I a detective?"

"Wait, you're not? I thought that was your job?"

"Tch. My boss is the one that's the detective, in a way. I'm just her secretary, or barista, or something."

" 'Barista'?"

"She quite likes coffee," Mikiya said dryly.

"Oh. Huh. Well, you're good at finding people, so this sorta thing suits you. Call it following your uncle's footsteps."

"I'm not sure if he goes around questioning delinquents and druggies, but oh well. If I find Minato, I'll call you, and maybe find some way to put him under protection or something. I guess I'll start tonight?"

"Don't— don't do that. If you're gonna investigate, and at _night_ , of all times, you're bound to cross paths with the murderer. And maybe you'll become the next target." He sighed. "Look, I know this sounds cruel, but hold it off for tomorrow. Last thing we need is a higher body-count for this mess."

Mikiya pursed his lips, but relented. He finished off his tea and slice of pie, threw down a few notes for his half of the bill, and before Gakuto could protest, set out into the night.

Maybe the money was starting to get to his head, but he decided to indulge himself and take a taxi for once. 

—*—

 _The boy's breaths were ragged, his footsteps heavy and uneven. Faded bloodstains colored the soles of his shoes, like rust. He clutched a worn cell phone in his hand.  
_  
 _Through some stroke of luck, he found an abandoned mansion, with an unlocked door at that. A safe haven, for the time being. He rummaged through the rooms, drawing the window blinds, though he didn't bother with locking the doors. It'd just draw suspicion, revealing his location.  
_  
 _As if a mere locked door would be enough to stop her.  
_  
 _He knew. She was watching him. If he tried to run, she'd find him. Maybe, just maybe, if he just sat still and hid, she wouldn't be able to see him. She'd give up, and go home, though his heart told him that that was a lie. He gripped the phone harder.  
_  
 _He ran, all the way up the six flights of stairs, to the very top floor of the mansion. He slammed the doors open, checking each room. Some had scraps of furniture around, other had bits of trash littered on the floor. All were coated with thick layers of dust. Eventually, he found one just for him. An empty room, with a single window. He drew the blinds, and collapsed against the wall.  
_  
 _In the distance, he could hear the distant rumbling of lightning. Moments later, he heard the soft, splattering of the rain. He gripped the phone harder. He had not received any calls since noon. By now, he wished they'd just come.  
_  
 _He always found the silence scarier._

—*—

Mikiya found it lucky, that he had chosen to take the taxi on a whim. It started to rain again.

Thankfully, the rain wasn't quite as bad as yesterday, where then, it had been a veritable downpour. It was only showering at this point, though if the night before was any indication, it'd be pouring by midnight. Shielding his head from the rain with his arm, he half walked, half jogged over to the door. After taking a few moments to fumble with the keys, he got the door open, and let himself in.

"I'm home!"

He slipped out of his shoes, leaving them at the doorstep. Fujino lazed on the couch, watching the TV tuned to a news channel. It almost reminded him of Shiki. It took her a few moments to notice he had come back, and she started when she did, scrambling to sit up a little straighter.

"I, um… welcome b—" She stopped herself short, suddenly looking concerned. "Oh. A-are you okay? You look a bit tired."

"...Do I?"

"I mean, well— no offense," she said, averting her eyes. "Sorry."

He gave a short laugh. "Sorry if I sounded a bit irritated. But yeah, I guess I am."

He walked on over to the living room, and sank into the couch besides Fujino, taking one of the snacks from the coffee table. For a moment, he said nothing, merely contenting himself with staring at the ceiling.

 _Should I tell her?  
_  
 _Or should I not?  
_  
 _She was looking for that boy, though I dunno what for, exactly. But… she's involved with this somehow. And she was the one who asked me to find him in the first place. By all rights, she should know, now that I've gotten a lead. Hell, it was why Azaka even introduced me to her, in the first place.  
_  
 _But we're dealing with a murderer here. I don't know how much the murderer knows, or where it gets its information. If I drag her into this, she could become another target. Another victim. Another one, who knows too much._

He sighed, and absentmindedly popped a pea into his mouth, still staring at the ceiling in contemplation.

 _But it's not like the murderer is omnipotent, right?_

Mikiya sat up a little straighter and turned to face her. He wasn't sure if it was his imagination or not, but she seemed to tense up a bit.

"I found some information on Minato Keita."

"Oh. Wait— what!?"

Her sudden outburst startled him. She definitely was tense by now, on the edge of her seat, with eyes filled half with panic, half with anticipation, mingling with hints of other emotions he couldn't quite figure out. What was it? Fear?

"Um… Yeah, I think? It's not actually that much though," he said, with a shrug of the shoulders. "I didn't find Keita himself, but I found some leads on what happened to him, where he might be, and so on." He took out Gakuto's envelope from his pocket, and set it on the coffee table. She did not respond. He continued.

"I'm not quite sure what exactly happened, but apparently he was with those students who were found dead this morning, and no one else has seen him since. At the very least, his other friends know he survived, since he allegedly tried calling them for help after the murder. They said he was acting weird, like he was being watched or hunted or something. And, well," he said, scratching the back of his head, "That's it, really. Other than that, I just got a few contacts and so on, so I'll probably start searching tomorrow."

Mikiya set the envelope on the coffee table, yet Fujino still said nothing. He raised an eyebrow.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Don't—"

"What?"

"You— you shouldn't go looking for him. He was involved in a crime, a murder, so you shouldn't get involved. What if… what if the murderer finds out you're looking for him? What if the murderer sees that as a threat? You could get targeted. You could get _killed_." Her voice grew louder, panicked. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry for asking. You can just— I don't know— forget about it, you shouldn't get involved in these kinds of things! Please, just… _just forget about it, don't go looking for him, don't—!_ "

A stunned silence. Fujino covered her mouth with her hands. Mikiya's mouth hung slightly open, dumbstruck.

"...Fujino?"

"I— I'm sorry." She refused to meet his eyes. "I just… I don't want you to get into any trouble."

"Look. Don't worry. It'll be _fine_ ," he said, though he wasn't quite sure if he believed it himself. "I doubt the murderer will find out I'm looking for Keita, and whoever it is, I don't think they'd care. Lots of people are looking for him, so how would I be any different?" It felt hollow, but the logic was sound enough. Why would he be anything special?

Fujino looked similarly unconvinced, but did not respond. Wordlessly, she fell over sideways laying down on the sofa, burying her face into the pillow. Mikiya took the cue, and retreated to his room.

The rest of the night in the apartment passed in silence, other than the beating of the raindrops on the windowsill, the rumblings of thunder in the distance. 

—*—

Ryougi Shiki wanted to kill someone.

Yet this time, it was out of frustration, rather than impulse.

She slammed the office door open, dripping wet with rain, and marched on over to the couch, fuming all the while. Touko raised and eyebrow, and suppressed a laugh. Shiki was the kind of girl who liked to trust her instincts. She thoroughly convinced herself, that she and the killer were fated to meet. Like attracts like, so they say. So if she met the killer, in her day-long patrol around the city, she would know. She'd _feel_ it. Problem was, she didn't know if it was working or not.

It normally came to her as a hunch; a sort of wrongness in the air, and a compulsion to right it. To destroy it. An unforgettable feeling. Her desire to kill was instinctual, in self-defense. Like attracts like, so they say, but she never wanted that.

Because the last thing she had wanted was for someone to show her for what she really was.

Yet it was pointless by now. Her reason for the instinct had disappeared, leaving behind only the instinct itself. The last bit of SHIKI, that she could cling onto. Just thinking about it brought back memories, of that rainy night two years in the past.

So, she braced herself during her walk around town, silently waiting for that feeling to come. Yet it never did.

"No luck?"

"Oh, shut it."

"Well," Touko said, leaning back into her chair, "In a way, you brought this upon yourself. You didn't even bother looking up those files I got for you. How'd you expect to find her in the first place?"

"If I found her, I'd feel it."

"Mmhmm. And how's that working out for you right now?"

 _Yeah, yeah, rub it in._

A moment of silence, in the office, with no sound other than the ticking of clocks, the static of the television screens, the lashing of rain on the windowpanes. Shiki sulked on the couch, and lying face-up, staring at the ceiling. Minutes passed by, as Touko quietly worked on some her papers.

"Any news on the murderer?" Shiki asked.

"What do you mean by that?"

"As in, have there been any more victims?"

"No. Were you worried?"

"In a way." Touko did not respond, and so Shiki opted to continue. "For the murderer, more so than the victims. Well, not quite worried, I guess. It just… it just _annoys_ me, how the murderer killed them."

"Oh?" Touko raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing on her lips.

"It's just so impersonal," she said, with a grimace. "How did those policemen find those bodies again? Just random, severed parts, floating around in a pool of blood? They were _butchered_ , not murdered. That's not how a human dies."

"So what are they, then?"

"Flesh. Meat. Whatever they are now, it's not 'human'. At least, not anymore."

"What I'm wondering is," Touko said, not looking up from her paperwork, "What was it that happened for someone to kill four people at once?"

Shiki looked as if she'd tasted bile. "There shouldn't be any reason, not with how that played out. It's senseless, in a way. Doubt it was for self-defense, seeing as how whatever happened, it was overkill for something as simple as that. The bodies were found together, so they must've been killed all at once. From the looks of it? Just some psychopath killing for kicks. A monster."

" 'Monster'? A bit harsh, no? She must have had a reason to kill. Otherwise she never would've done so in the first place."

"Tch. 'Monster' is perfect for her. She killed _four people_ , at once, no less. Nothing can justify that. Whatever shreds of humanity she had left, she left them in the bar to rot."

Shiki didn't quite know how she really felt; if she felt anger towards the killer for the murders, or for simply not showing up. _She_ was the one, the one she had to kill. Touko looked up from her documents and smiled, and set her pen and glasses down on the desk. She brushed aside the stack of papers, and picked up a brown envelope laying on her desk, presenting it to Shiki. "It's still here, if you want it?"

Shiki glared with a sour look on her face, but relented, and opened the envelope.

Files, pictures, miscellaneous notes in a stack. The front page had a worn photograph clipped to the top, of a face like that of a doll. Besides it, random, pointless information: height, weight, blood type and so on. Underneath the photograph was a name, the characters for "shallow god".

 _"Fujino Asagami."_


	7. Part 6

**/6**

Mikiya left the apartment to an overcast day, to slivers of blue sky peeking through dull white sheets of clouds. Combined with the tension at the breakfast table, with Fujino refusing to speak or meet his eyes, it wasn't exactly the most uplifting start to his day. But, at the very least, it wouldn't be too hot. He'd be walking a lot today, after all.

He skimmed through the stack of notes in his hands, stopping to pick out a paper with addresses and names scribbled all over it. He left the envelope back in the apartment. After all, much of it was fluff. Pointless. He had already skimmed through those, too, but they were nothing special. He doubted they'd help much with the investigation.

He'd only bring what he'd need. From the looks of it, the usual hangouts for any possible informants and their gangs were located in the deserted side of town near the port, the part hit hardest by the economic crash five or six years in the past. He supposed it'd seem suspicious to the driver, if he took a taxi to, say, an abandoned bar, or a back alley, so he would opt to take the bus, and walk the rest of the way.

He had cash on him, twenty-five thousand yen, to be exact. That almost worried him. Originally, he intended to use it for transportation fare, and to help with "convincing" people to talk, should the questioning go sour. He knew he'd need it for the investigation ahead, yet doubts still plagued his mind.

 _Will I get mugged?_

 _Most people should know what I'm here for, so they shouldn't attack, but…?_

Who was he kidding? Keita's crowd wasn't exactly one of honor students and law-abiding citizens. Mucking around in a back alley, with an envelope full of cash? Of course he'd get mugged. They'd have to be stupid _not_ to mug him. He had no affiliation or strong ties with any of these people, so what was there to lose? At best, he was friends with Gakuto, who only danced along the edge of the world of youth gangs and crimes, if only to ensure his juniors didn't stray too far or go in too deep. But then there was Shiki.

 _She is from a family of yakuza, after all. Would it be some use as leverage? Or at least an incentive not to stab me?  
_  
Though to be honest, he doubted that alone would be enough. It was true that in some people's eyes, affiliating with Shiki meant affiliating with the Ryougi family, but in the recent past, Shiki had little to do with her family. That, and he and her family had never actually met. He couldn't rely on their influence for protection, though he never really expected to in the first place.

Mikiya sighed, and tucked away the sheet of gang hideouts and their addresses. He wouldn't go look for possible informants there, not until he was sure he'd be safe. Maybe a can of pepper spray or something of the sort would suffice, but he didn't have one on him. And that was for the best, seeing as how he'd prefer to avoid hurting people during this investigation, even if it would be in self-defense.

He sat on a bench by the bus stop, still skimming through his stack of notes. There were more than just names and hangouts, after all.

Workplaces. Apartments. Restaurants, malls, clubs, all were neutral grounds where he'd have the best chances to get a civil discussion, ones that _wouldn't_ end with him unconscious and bleeding out in a back alley or a dumpster. He flipped a page.

Another list of names and locations, but he raised an eyebrow, if only a little. According to these notes, some of the potential informants worked part-time jobs at those aforementioned "neutral grounds". Most of these were located in the entertainment or commercial district, a good place to start the investigation.

He got up from the bench, turning towards the commercial district. The bus to the port had arrived, yet he ignored it. His new destination was a shorter distance away than the hideaways, so he didn't need to take it. Walking would suffice.

It'd give him some time to make some calls. 

—*—

She watched him through the windowsill. Watched him skim through the files. Watched him ignore the bus and set out on foot.

He hadn't listened to her. He would look for that boy no matter what she said. She should have known this would happen.

He was soft. He wouldn't stand for sitting by and watching this go on.

 _I shouldn't have told him._

 _I shouldn't have talked._

 _He'll find out what happened. What they did to me. What I did to them. He'll find out what I am— and what would I be to him? A monster? Murderer? A freak of nature? What will he do then? Will he turn me in? Try to kill me? Throw me out, or turn on me, and side with them? Will he hate me for everything I've done, everything I am?_

No, she knew that was wrong. From everything she knew about him, Mikiya wasn't like that. He wasn't the type to hurt or hate. He'd be worse.

He'd try to stop her. "Save" her, whatever that meant. He'd try to find a solution, something peaceful or naive, where no one would get hurt. He'd get dragged into her world, into her fight, and he would bleed for it, whether by their hands, or hers.

 _I… can't let that happen.  
_  
Absently, she looked down, only to realize her hands were bleeding.

She had been clenching her fists, knuckles whitened, fingernails digging into skin, deep enough to draw blood. She hadn't noticed that. She raised an unsteady hand to her face, in uncertainty. She had been shaking, too. She hadn't noticed that either.

As if her body had just now been reminded of its intended functions, everything came rushing back.

Sensation. Pain. Hot, thick, the blood dribbled down her arms and hands, cooling and rusting as it ran down, like liquid metal, like paint. Seven stabs of pain, punctures in the palms of her hands, stinging in the exposed air— hot and cold and burning and wet— four on the right, three on the left, holes where the nails had drawn blood. Thick air, heavy air, it tasted like rust, it stuck to her throat as she gasped for breath, iron bands squeezing and tightening on her lungs.

 _—Oh._

 _I'm burning up._

She could feel it. Air and cloth brushing against her skin, like needles from all directions, prickling and burning. She couldn't breathe it in. It wouldn't go down. She gasped, clawing at her body. It came back. She felt it in her stomach, her heart, her lungs, iron bands, clenching and squeezing harder and harder, twisting them, wringing them into knots. She gripped her stomach, tighter and tighter until she felt something warm, something sticky. She drew blood. The wound had opened up again. She felt something cool on her face, something wet, something trickling down, dripping from her chin. She realized she was crying.

And then it was gone, as fast as it had came. All pain, all sensation, all heat and cold and scent and feeling— the texture of cloth, the wetness of tears, the stickiness of blood, the heat of her body and the summer air— all, gone. A ghost once more.

It almost startled her. She raised a hand to her face— steadily now, she noticed— to observe it. It was still red with blood, from the punctures from nails. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, and the wounds disappeared. No punctures, no bloodstains. She opened them again, and there they were again. She almost laughed. If she couldn't see them, she wouldn't even know they were there.

Love. Pain. Sensation. Feeling hurt her, yet she wanted more. She found it almost addicting. They were signs that she was here, she was alive, real. All it'd take for everything to disappear was for her to close her eyes. That scared her more than the pain did.

Even if it hurt, she didn't want it to go away.

 _But if Mikiya finds out the truth—_

 _He could die. I could die. Everything will disappear again._ I _will disappear again._

 _...I'll stop him._

Hazily, she made her way to the bathroom, and turned on the faucet, washing her hands of the blood. Yet, her hands were still red. She noticed steam rising from the water, fogging the mirror, and really did laugh this time. The water seared at her hands, burning them red and raw, yet she couldn't even feel it. She couldn't even tell. She turned off the water, and observed the cloth of her habit. It was bloodied again.

 _I can't go out like this.  
_  
She took off the habit, and turned the sink on once more, this time making sure to choose the cold water, so the blood wouldn't set. She scrubbed the stained cloth under the running water, yet it just wasn't enough. It wouldn't disappear. She bit her lip. A bloody habit would draw attention. A bloody and wet one would draw even more.

She sighed, hung the habit on a rack to dry, and cleaned the remaining blood on her skin. She had to go after him. She needed something to go out in. She made her way to Mikiya's room, and borrowed— not "stole", she assured herself— one of his shirts, and put it on.

Knee socks. Spats. A dress shirt, slightly too big. Hair tied up, for good measure. Still might draw some attention, but certainly not as conspicuous as before. This would do.

She pocketed a spare key she found in one of the drawers, and some of the yen he brought back, just in case. She exited the apartment and disappeared into the city. 

—*—

Mikiya had learned much from his investigation. Problem was, little of it was relevant to Keita.

 _Tanaka Kenshin always wears lensless glasses. Apparently, he thinks they make him look intellectual. He doesn't think anyone else notices yet._

 _Fuji Makoto had a brown belt in judo, but he dropped out before he managed a black belt. Thought that having one would stack even more evidence against him, if he got arrested for getting into a fight._

 _Heiwajima was rumored to have once thrown a vending machine at a man in anger._

By now, he was at his fourth visit. He'd been to a cafe, a karaoke bar, a convenience store; he'd already met almost fifteen people, yet no one seemed to know any more about Keita than he did. At best, they knew he was being targeted by something, and at worst, Mikiya had to be the one to break the news to them.

 _Maki Minori was a frail kid, who's shy with women and deals psilocybin in the dock alleys. He disliked coffee, and caused Mikiya to waste four hundred yen._

 _Ueno's first words were to point out how Kokutou sounded like Cocteau. He then went on about how much he hated Les Enfants Terribles._

 _Fukui Shigeru ranted at length about some new dealer named "Jun", who supposedly created a new type of drug, taking up all the business. He thought Mikiya an associate sent to "negotiate" him out of the business. He didn't know anyone named Keita._

Mikiya stood outside an arcade, now. His next potential interviewee— "Akira" —worked as a part-time mechanic, who fixed the machines and dealt with customer complaints. But most of the time, he fooled around in the back, hanging out with friends who drop by to visit. All the better for him. The more people were present, the more people he could ask. He opened the door.

"Oy! Mikiya!"

And Akira was sitting just by the entrance, waiting for him, alone.

Akira waved him on over, and got up to find a table, a slight bounce to his step. It was almost strange. This one was oddly enthusiastic.

They sat down at a dining area, where the arcade sold snacks. He bought two cans of coffee from a vending machine, and tossed one over to Mikiya. "Here. It's been a while."

 _Wait a minute. Do I know—  
_  
"Haven't seen you since you dropped out. Heard you left for a job, is that right?"

 _Oh._ OH.

"Yeah, in a way. I got a job offering, and it was a good offer. Might as well start working now. I didn't even know what I wanted to be."

Akira laughed. "Lucky. But where the hell do you have to work for you to drop out of college?"

"Um…" He hesitated. Couldn't quite say that he dropped out to work for a weirdo magus who made dolls that looked like the girl he crushed on, but—

"I guess it's like a detective agency? But anyway, that kind of leads into why I'm here," he said, eager to change the topic. He retrieved an envelope from his pockets, and slid a photo over. "Remember our underclassmen, Minato Keita? Have you seen him lately?"

Akira didn't respond at first. He stared at the photo with a slackened jaw, seemingly lost in thought.

"I did."

Mikiya did not reply, so he continued. "He came by often. Well, not here in particular, but he'd pass by. Sometimes he'd stop by for a chat, but usually I just saw him from the window, or from the streets when I have to bring in the machines. Every time, he was with his friends. Delinquents, from the looks of them." He bit his lip. "Is this about the girl with them?"

"The— wait, what?"

"They'd usually drag a girl around with them, and it was always the same one, too. I don't know why they had her, but it always looked pretty… shady, I guess is the right word?" he said, as he took a sip of coffee. "So is this about her?"

Mikiya narrowed his eyes. "No. Maybe. I'm not sure, I don't know the details myself."

" _Details?_ "

"You don't know?"

"Don't know what?"

Mikiya grunted. _So the news hasn't spread as much as I thought._ "Keita has gone missing. From the looks of it, it has something to do with the murder in that abandoned bar a day or two ago."

"...What?"

"Yes. We know that he's alive, because he tried to contact some of his friends for help," he said with a shrug. "Other than that? We don't know anything. Well, maybe the police know, but whatever they found, they haven't made it public. It makes sense, though; it's only been a day or two."

"So why are you on this case?"

"Some of his friends asked for my help." He sipped some of his coffee. "Sorry, if this was a bit sudden. I just wanted to know if you knew anything about Keita."

"Heh. Sorry about that. I've already told you everything I know."

"Tch. Well thanks for the help, regardless." Mikiya got up, tossing the empty can of coffee in the trash, but paused mid-step. "Wait." _Something's missing._

"Hm?" Akira tilted his head.

"It's nothing much, probably. But could you tell me about the girl?"

Akira gave a small laugh. "Sorry, I don't know much about her. She never came in with him. All I know is that she's probably high-class. She wore a Reien uniform."

Mikiya felt his heart pounding, felt sweat forming on his palms. Akira continued, seemingly not noticing.

"I guess you could say… she had a face like that of a doll."


	8. Part 7

**/7**

It was too much to be a coincidence.

Mikiya stared absently out the bus window, cradling his head in his hands. He was too tired to walk the way back, even if it hadn't _seemed_ to him like he walked that far. In the end, he hadn't discovered anything else. All his other informants had come up dry, or only told him what he already knew. Some of them didn't even show up. All really he left with was that single piece of information: that Fujino was linked to the murder. He could put two and two together.

Minutes passed, with nothing to distract him other than the rumbling of the engine, the tires on asphalt, the white noise of the passenger crowds. The noise wasn't enough. It couldn't drown out his thoughts.

He wanted to keep her out of this, yet he couldn't quite put his finger on the reason. He considered, at first, that it was just a matter of keeping innocents out of danger, but that wasn't it. He had no trouble with dragging other people into this whole affair, so that couldn't be it. This was different.

If anything, she reminded him too much of Shiki. He didn't want to see someone break like that again.

Yet it was doomed to failure from the start. He almost laughed. How didn't he see this coming?

 _Afraid?_

He sighed. He'd have to face this head-on. Tonight, for sure. He would ask her about her connection to Keita, even if he didn't _really_ want to know. He closed his eyes, and leaned his head against the window, the cool glass a small relief from his headache. He could hear the tires screeching to a stop and the telltale chime of the bell. This was his stop.

He hesitated when he reached his apartment door. He didn't quite know why, but he didn't know a lot of things. It was just a feeling of discomfort, a slight unease in the air. He shrugged it off, and opened the door.

She was there, lazing on the sofa. From his angle, he couldn't quite tell if she was awake or asleep, but she stirred as he shut the door. She raised herself up and yawned, a tired look on her face. But she turned her head, and smiled.

"Welcome back, Mikiya."

He couldn't help but smile back. Maybe he'd save it for later. 

—*—

She had seen them talk, had heard what they had said. And she didn't know what to do.

She could have stopped this. She _would_ have stopped this, and it would've been so easy to do. She had gone through his information behind his back, knew who Mikiya would have to turn to in his investigation. She could have gotten to them before he had the chance. All she'd have to do was to make them disappear. He would have no one to turn to.

 _And yet…_

Who were they to him? Schoolmates? Coworkers? Friends?

Would he be upset if she killed them?

She silently laughed to herself, so much so that her sides started to hurt, a dull throbbing heat. She instinctively grabbed her stomach, and collapsed onto the couch. It was a stupid question. Of course he'd be upset. Knowing him, he wouldn't want anyone to die.

 _He doesn't have to know._

—Ridiculous. With how closely he was sticking to the investigation, any new news about the murders would reach him first—

Then stop him.

—She tried. Failed. There was no way to convince him. His mind was already set on this, and she doubted anything she could say would sway his opinion—

 _Then don't let him meet them._

Fujino sunk into the pillows, head held in her arms. She looked at herself; she noticed she was shaking again. Was she crying? Laughing? She couldn't tell. It was all a blur, everything, the ringing in her ears, the red and green, strange spirals over every surface, a haze shifting in the air. The world felt like it was falling apart. Just when she'd found her reason to live, she'd lose it all. If Mikiya found out, about everything…

 _Then don't let him leave._

 _How unfortunate would it be, if he could no longer investigate from an accident. If something broke his—_

A cracking sound snapped Fujino out of her daze. For a moment, she sat still, hands gripped, eyes darting wildly around the room. Her eyes drifted over to the table, and almost laughed. One of the teacups had a crack in it, and on it she saw the lines, an eerie red and green.

She buried her face and cursed herself. She didn't want to hurt anyone, least of all Mikiya.

 _If it's not you, it'll be someone else. And there's no guarantees he, and you, will survive._

Fujino closed her eyes, and sighed. Breathed in. Out. Kept it level, steady, as calm as she could muster. Slowly, she opened them back up again, and the lines were gone, along with the pain. Nothingness once again.

She had to end this, for her sake, and his. The sound of the door opening reached her ears. For a few brief seconds that felt like hours, she did nothing, basking in the silence, contenting herself with listening to quiet footsteps, to the shuffling around the counter. She gritted her teeth. She hated the silence.

Slowly, she raised herself from the couch, and saw Mikiya look over from the corner of her eye, and mustered up a smile.

 _Everything will be alright._

"Welcome back, Mikiya."

 _I won't let anyone else touch you._

—*—

They had some leftover rice, as well as some eggs and vegetables. So it was only natural for them to make fried rice.

Neither of them spoke of the investigation. Fujino did not ask Mikiya about his day, and Mikiya did not ask Fujino about how she spent hers. They talked, instead, of trivial things. He talked more about the cat he might adopt. She talked of her times at school, spent with Azaka. Mikiya suddenly noticed her change in clothes.

"...Is that my shirt?"

She did not answer, and looked away. Fujino, he noticed, tended to do that, as if the asker would simply forget the question and move on. Unfortunately for her, Mikiya had mastered the art of the blank, clueless stare. He would not lose this time around.

He held his stare, head slightly tilted. She kept her eyes on the ground. Her lips started to quiver. "...Yes."

He covered his mouth, trying to hide his laugh, as she turned to him, with an expression of mock indignance. "Well, I can't just wear the same thing forever," she said. "And besides, weren't you fine with it the first night I spent here?" A sly smile. He'd never seen her smile like that before, but he could get used to this.

"Nah, it's fine. Don't worry about it." He managed a small smile back, though she cast her eyes down at this.

Neither of them were quite sure how long they could keep up this charade, but it didn't really matter. Dinner first, murders later. The talk provided a convenient distraction.

Mikiya froze, staring at her hand, eyes widened with concern. Maybe it happened _because_ of the distraction. He wasn't even sure if she would've noticed if he hadn't stopped, stared. "Fujino?"

She looked bemused, and followed his gaze.

It wasn't anything too serious, just a cut on her hand, probably when she wasn't paying attention when cutting up the cabbage, distracted by their talk. He could see it, blood on the cutting board, gash in her fingers, index and middle, but it was her expression that caught his eye.

Utter apathy. Like she couldn't feel it.

She met his eyes, looking almost confused. "...Oh."

Mikiya bit his lip. He'd ask later, but now wasn't the time. "I'll get you something."

He rummaged through the cabinets, as Fujino made her way to the sink, rinsing her hands under the water. He brought up a small gauze, and some bandages he had in a cracker tin, and examined the cut. It wasn't too deep, or even anything that serious, but still disturbed him. This wasn't something as light as a papercut. She should've noticed it. So why didn't she?

He took her hand and pressed the gauze to the cut, and she did not react. Her expression was empty, no pain, no feeling.

 _Like a doll._

Reflexively, his grip tightened on her hand, but he started a little, and loosened his grip. "Does it hurt?"

 _Dolls don't hurt._

For a moment, silence.

"It doesn't— I mean—" She withdrew her hand, and took the gauze with it, with a strained laugh. "I— I'm fine. Thank you. That was, um…" She looked at him, almost pleadingly. "...Clumsy of me."

"You can go take a break," Mikiya said, discarding some of the cabbage and washing the blood off the cutting board and knife. "I can handle the rest from here. It's not much." Fujino opened her mouth to protest, but he spoke first. "Even if it doesn't hurt, it wouldn't do for you to work with that hand. The cut's not shallow."

She looked almost annoyed, an expression he hadn't seen her make before, and sat down by the table, watching Mikiya work. There wasn't much left to do.

He'd ask her later. He had to concentrate for now. He got to chopping up the rest of the cabbage.

 _Running away again?_

He was on edge. Being paranoid. He could feel a knuckle crack as he gripped the knife.

 _You're ignoring the issue, it's clear as day._

—Now was not the time for this. After dinner, was. He set the cabbage aside, and lit the stove. He broke a few eggs into the wok, scrambling them all the while. He wasn't sure if his hand was shaking, or if it was just his imagination.

 _You'd find another excuse, to ask later, always later._

—Because he was busy with work. He shouldn't break concentration. He set the scrambled eggs aside, and started to fry the chopped onions and cabbage, for a bit, adding in the rice later, seasoned with soy sauce and mirin—

 _You're stirring rice, for god's sake. Stop coming up with excuses, and ask her no—_

The phone's ringing brought him out of his daze. He furrowed his brow. Gakuto, probably? Absently, he turned the fire down, and made his way over to the receiver.

"Hello? This is Mikiya speaking."

"Yo." Mikiya's eyes widened. Shiki's voice came from over the receiver.

"Ya busy? 'Cause I got a job for you."


	9. Part 8

**/8**

"...What?"

"I told you," she said, with an audible sigh. "I got a job for you. You busy right now?"

"I'm making dinner."

"That's not what I was asking—wait, what?" She broke into laughter. "You? Cooking dinner? Thought you just lived off convenience store bentos, or some shit like that?"

"Just because I get _you_ bentos so you don't starve to death doesn't mean _I'm_ the one living off bentos," he said with a sigh. He saw Fujino glance at him from the corner of his eye. "Besides, I have a guest over."

"I…huh. Who?"

"A friend."

"...Really?" She didn't sound like she believed him. Brushing it off, probably with a shrug or a huff, she continued. "Whatever. What I'm saying is, we got a new job."

Mikiya snorted. "Is it something weird again? Like drawing key frames, or stalking Touko's—"

"It's about the murders."

He froze at that. His hand started to tremble, but he steadied it, and sat down to calm himself. "Explain."

"Well, we've been commissioned to find her. Before the police do, probably. I mean," she said, an indignant edge to her voice, "I tried tracking the murderer down myself, but came up dry. _You_ , however, have a knack for this sorta thing, right?" For a moment, neither of them said anything, gears turning in Mikiya's head, mind lingering on that word— _her_. Shiki opted to continue. "If it helps, I have leads. And the payout's looking pretty good; you're looking for a job, right?"

"Who put you up to this?"

"Killer's father." Shiki snorted. "Apparently they're some wealthy, bigwig family that can't stand a stain like this on their family history. Dunno what they're gonna do later, but they'll probably cover it up." If Mikiya could see her right now, he'd imagine she'd be shrugging. "And we're cleaning up the mess. But as I said, the pay's good, and I doubt Touko would end up blowing all your money on something dumb again."

"Uh… huh. Why?"

She laughed. "Apparently, she managed to swipe her sister's bank account info somehow, so she's binge-spending with that, now." Shiki cleared her throat. He could hear her flipping through papers over the receiver. "But yeah. Murders. Investigations. You up for it?"

Mikiya hesitated. "I already have a job—"

"More important than this?"

"It's also about the murder."

He heard Shiki freeze, and the sound of the papers stopped. "Explain."

"Four people were killed," he said, "Five were down there in the bar." He got up and turned off the stove lest the rice burn, and reached for his envelope. Fujino stared at him all the while. "Minato Keita, that's his name. Actually, he was one of our underclassmen from Mikami, though I don't think you knew him all that well. Gakuto— remember him? He asked me to go look for him."

Mikiya noticed movement out of the corner of his eye, and when he turned to check on Fujino, she would not look back at him. Shiki's voice brought him back to his senses. "Gakuto… the apeish one, right?"

He chose to ignore the comment. "He's worried. As far as we know, Keita's alive, but in hiding. Apparently he's tried to call his friends for help, but it's all incoherent, rambling about being 'chased' or something along those lines. And," he said, shifting uncomfortably, "I already got paid for this job. And someone's life is on the line. So I'll have to find Keita first."

He heard Shiki sigh. "Alright, alright. Go ahead, bring him here, and then we'll question him. See if he knows anything about the case. On that note," she said, as Mikiya heard more shuffling papers, "I have some information you might want. Documents and shit. About the murderer."

"How much do you know?"

"Affiliations. Abilities. History, though only a little. And so on. Though I guess you won't really need it until you start chasing her yourself."

 _Her._

He gripped the phone. "...Do you know her name?"

"Ah, right. Forgot 'bout that." A small laugh, that trailed into a sigh. "Hold on, lets see here… Ah."

"'Fujino Asagami.' " 

—*—

Mikiya did not press her for details. They agreed to meet up the next day at Garan no Dou, where Touko would fill him in on the details, and Shiki hung up, leaving him to tend to his rice. As it turns out, just turning off the gas didn't remove the heat, and the rice continued to cook, nearly burning, crusting on the bottom of the pan. While this wasn't bad as far as the taste went, he supposed, it was always a pain to clean up. Another pain to deal with, albeit petty. And with that, he called her over from the couch, where she seemed to have awoken from a nap, and the two sat down to eat.

More accurately, Mikiya ate— or _tried to_ , as best as he could—while Fujino did not. He watched her with concern, how she sat, hand lingering by the bowl, eyes downcast, teeth grit and lips pressed tight.

 _This wasn't right._

He wanted to ask her. Was now the chance?

 _There has to have been some mistake—_

Yet before he could speak, she broke the silence.

"Mikiya!" she blurted out. He froze. She had a strange expression on her face: determination, almost anger, seemingly struggling with herself, trying find the words to say. She spoke quietly now, wearing a sullen expression. "I— Who was it you were talking to?"

"No one, really. It was from work." Tone: calm. Casual. Nothing was wrong.

"The doll-maker?"

"Nah," he said, with a shake of his head. "It was Shiki."

Mikiya thought he could hear the chopsticks crack under her grip. Yet, she relaxed her hand, smiled, and began to eat. He couldn't tell if it was an act or not. Seconds passed.

"...You'll still look for Keita, won't you?"

An uncomfortable silence. Mikiya took another bite of rice, chewing slowly and swallowing before answering.

"I will."

She laughed, though it was weak. Fujino did not ask any further and continued to eat, and Mikiya opted to do the same.

And so the meal continued in silence, as usual. He gripped his hand tighter. He almost wanted to laugh. Even it always ended in silence, in words left unsaid, that didn't mean he wanted it to. He looked on over, across the table, as Fujino listlessly played with her food. A thousand questions burrowed in his throat, forming a lump, an iron grip on his lungs—

He opened his mouth to ask, but Fujino spoke first. 

—*—

This was the end, or maybe it wasn't. She didn't know anymore, though she didn't know a lot of things, other than that she couldn't hide from him any longer. Or maybe she could. She didn't know.

Fujino could hear his question, wavering and unsure, resounding inside her skull over and over, clinging to the back of her mind and refusing to leave: "Do you know her name?" She felt heavy. "Her name?"

 _"Her name?"_

She gripped herself, nails digging through cloth, into skin. She could feel it again, the stabbing, hot, stinging sensation in her stomach, like barbs and needles, prickling, stabbing, lacerating her body— yet she did not bend to the pain. Let it hurt. It provided a distraction.

 _What will you do?_

She grit her teeth, and could feel herself draw blood, the tang of iron and salt playing upon her lips. She could hear Mikiya call her for dinner from the other side of the room, but the voice wouldn't leave— _"Her name?"_

 _When he finds out you're a murderer?_

Not hate. Not fear. That wasn't who he was.

She was normal—wasn't she? She wasn't insane. She wasn't strange. And he treated her like so.

 _I…_

—What was she afraid of?

For a moment, she leaned back, and focused on the pain, the _sensation_ —the stinging and heat in her stomach, the dry, conditioned air cooling her skin, the feel of the fabrics against her body—and sunk deeper into the couch. She balled up her hand into a fist as if to remind herself, and it hurt, nails digging into skin, a stinging heat reminding her of the pain. She relaxed her hand, and the pain disappeared; yet, she could still feel it, vestiges, lingering on her skin. She closed her eyes. The room disappeared. The sensation did not. It was still there, all of it—the ebb and flow of her breath, the beating of her heart like a metronome, a steady, persistent rhythm. An unfamiliar feeling. She didn't know what to make of it.

 _I am here._

She opened her eyes, and got up. She could see Mikiya from the other side of the room, and he smiled. She felt a lump in her throat, felt a tightening in her chest, felt a thousand things, a thousand sensations—of hot and cold, heavy and light, of pressure, of movement, of weight—of pleasure and pain.

If anything, it made her feel like she was real.

 _I'm going to lose this._

A bitter laugh, under her breath.

 _I don't want to go back._

Through the haze, she noticed herself moving over to the table, steps mechanical, like clockwork, sitting down as Mikiya set the dishes. She couldn't bring herself to look at him—lest she give herself away. Who told him? Who out there knew her for what she was? Who was it, that would everything away from her?

She glanced up only to see Mikiya staring at her, in—what was it? Was it concern? Disappointment? Confusion? What was it?

Was it pity?

"Mikiya!"

A sudden outburst. It stunned her, too. His look— _what was it?—_ intensified. Brow furrowed. Lips parted. Chopsticks left hanging, mid-bite.

"I—" A mistake. It was a mistake. She didn't mean to yell, he was staring now, _that look_ —how long had he been staring? What was he—she couldn't think. Time was ticking away, think fast, act natural. "Who was it you were talking to?"

"No one, really. It was from work." A casual shrug.

It almost calmed her, helped her keep her voice steady. "The doll-maker?"

"Nah," he said, shaking his head. "It was Shiki."

A slight snap. She looked down, and they were there again: lines, a sickly red and green, twisting and turning along every surface. She blinked, and they were gone. From the corner of her eyes, she could see Mikiya staring at her, an expression of alarm on his face. She was giving herself away.

She took a deep breath, and closed her eyes. The world was gone. A thousand sensations disappeared. She opened her eyes, a doll once more.

"You'll still look for Keita, won't you?"

A useless question. A desperate grasp at straws. A half-hearted hope, that he would change his mind. She already knew the answer.

"I will."

She made a sound; she couldn't quite figure out what. Did she laugh? Cry? She closed her eyes, and everything was gone again. She didn't know. She raised a hand to rub her eye—did she cry? Was she crying? Was her hand wet, or dry? She couldn't feel it. She couldn't know.

 _—Like I really am a doll._

She listlessly poked at her rice. Mikiya seemed to be struggling, too. His hands were shaking, ever so slightly, his body tensed. Did he know yet? Did it even matter, anymore, if he would find out anyway?

She didn't know what she was afraid of. It wasn't the punishment of law or justice, or even hate or fear at this point. Fujino Asagami was a murderer, and Mikiya would learn this, sooner or later. It wasn't the fear of being seen as a murderer. It was the fear of being seen as something _else_.

 _What do you think you'll be to him, when he finds out what they did to you?_

Another silence, another one of those lovely silences— the kinds that lasted seconds and felt like eternities. Mikiya had opened his mouth to speak, but she spoke first.

"What will you do?"

He started at that. "I— wuh? Huh?"

She wanted to know, even it would kill her. Even if it hurt, if she _could_ even hurt. Did all the fear leave her body? Was this for becoming a doll? "What will you do, when you find the murderer?"

"I'm not going after the—"

"You will. The murderer's out to kill Keita. You're out to save him." She heard her voice— dull, listless, coming out like clockwork. "So what will you do, when you find the murderer?"

"Do you think she wants to be saved?" She looked directly into Mikiya's eyes.

She counted. One second. An confused look. Two seconds. Widened eyes. Three seconds. Recognition, definitely there, if only for an instant. Four seconds. A steeled expression, resolution. Five seconds. Back to normal, as if nothing was wrong.

"Maybe."

He set his chopsticks down.

"Maybe not." He cast his eyes down. His hands were unmoving, his expression stolid, an unreadable mask.

"Then," she asked, "do you think she should be brought to justice? That she should answer for her crimes?"

No answer.

"Why do you think she killed those men? Do you think she's a hateful person? Or some lost lamb to be protected? Or—"

"—I don't know. Her reason, that is. I… it doesn't matter to me." He closed his eyes; she counted the seconds pass by— two, three, four— and he looked straight back at her, gave unwavering. "Does it even matter what the reason was? If this all stops, if no one else is hurt, can't everything go back to normal?"

Of course not. She knew, and suspected that he knew too. And yet…

"I don't think anything has to change."

Silence. And then she almost snorted.

Mikiya laughed at that too, but did not answer, and instead continued his dinner. She followed suit, even if she couldn't quite taste the food. Their dinner continued in silence—the familiar, lonely silence—as Mikiya ate his rice, and Fujino poked at it, taking a bite here and there. She couldn't muster up any appetite. Neither of them commented on it. As usual.

They continued like that, no sound but the sound of the distant city, from a lonely apartment on the urban outskirts—of distant chatter, of the faint wailing of sirens and rushing of cars. She could hear rhythmic clicking and clinking of bamboo against porcelain from across the table, as Mikiya continued his meal.

"...Idiot." She muttered under her breath, voice choked, and he laughed sheepishly.

"I get that a lot."

She couldn't feel herself. She couldn't tell what she was doing, her mind a ghost from the body. And yet, she thought she might have been smiling.

"As you should." 

—*—

 _He didn't know what to do._

 _He didn't even know if he had an answer._

 _Across from the table, in a shirt a few sizes too large, was a familiar sight, though it had no right to be. It wasn't the oversized shirt, or the fumbling with the food, or the atmosphere, or the setting, the distant city, the summer heat—nothing he could put his finger on. It shouldn't have felt familiar at all. Despite it all, he thought of Shiki._

 _Like night and day. But still, familiar._

 _Hollow. Dangerous. Under she, the doll, he saw someone with secrets better left buried. Secrets that would bring nothing but pain unearthed, yet an allure that drew him in spite of it._

 _Any closer, and he would hurt her._

 _Any further, and he could not save her._

 _Internally, he scoffed. "Save". Like that did any good with Shiki. He didn't save her from anything. He only salted the wound. He had a feeling, a conviction, that this was the same. That anything he could try would only hurt her more, make things worse. He hadn't a clue what to do back then. He hadn't a clue what to do now. But even so, he couldn't turn away. No matter how hard he tried._

Hopeless, no?

 _In the end…_

What could you possibly do?

 _He couldn't save her. He didn't know how. He didn't even know what he was saving her from._

 _He almost laughed to himself. What else could he do?_

 _If he could save her, he would. If he could not, so be it._

 _If it hurt, let it._


End file.
